"I'd like to have seen Mhtoon Pah," he objected. "He ought to be on view
with his chapel."

"Shrine, Coryndon. You can see him in his shop," and they began the
descent down the steep steps.

"Look," said the Barrister quickly, "there is Mhtoon Pah. No, not the
man in white trousers, that's a Chinaman with a pigtail under his hat;
the fat old thing in the short silk _loongyi_ and crimson head-scarf."

Coryndon hardly glanced at him, as he passed with a scent of spice and
sandal-wood in his garments; his attention had been attracted by a booth
where men were eating curry.

"It is a curious custom to sell food in a place like this," he remarked
to the Barrister.

"It's part of the Oriental mind," replied his guide. "No one understands
it. No one ever will; so don't try and begin, or you'll wear yourself
out."

When they got back to the Club it was already late, and the hall of the
bar was crowded with men, standing together in groups, or sitting in
long, uncompromising chairs under the impression that they were
comfortable seats.

"Hullo, Joicey," said the Barrister, as he fell over his legs. "I'm
dog-beat. Been doing the Pagoda with Coryndon. Do you know each
other--?" He waved his hand by way of introduction, and Coryndon took an
empty chair beside the Banker, who heaved himself up a little in his